Scars don't hurt
by Dios Maligno
Summary: This is a story about Clark and Leona from King of Fighters. I don't know much about this series, so I might've written it pretty stupidly, but above all else, this will be a lemon. ;) But that doesn't start until the next chapter. There will be 3 chapters and the real hot stuff comes in the third. Mind, I haven't written anything in a long time, so this might be a fail.
1. Chapter 1

"Another shot of gin, please."

The bartender stared at the man with an astonished look. "That's the fifth one you had this hour," he said, wondering just how tipsy this guy must've been already.

He had been sitting there for at least two hours, not saying a word to anyone around him and just drinking one alcoholic beverage after another like it was water; mostly gin. It was hard to tell how drunk he was based on appearance, due to the fact that he wore dark glasses, his head covered in an old cap of sort, slightly crooked now, but his expression remained unfazed and stern.

He then cleared his throat, nudging the empty glass toward the bartender. "I said - another shot of gin, please. I have enough money, I'll drink as much as I please." His voice came out less composed than usual, though that could've been the only sign of his drunkenness at this point.

He had no idea how much longer he would have to stay at that bar. It wasn't like he had a choice in the matter either way, considering how he couldn't seem to find the guy who had brought him to this place. "Damn you, Ralf," he muttered under his breath, instantly gulping down half the glass of gin once it arrived. Apparently, he would have to head home alone this time, as there was no sign of this guy named Ralf anywhere in sight.

"Ralf you say, huh?" came a woman's voice from nearby. She then sauntered over to where the capped man sat, easing herself into a seat next to him. "Did he ditch you again, I take it?"

"What?" He set his glass down and gave her a weary look. "Look, Leona, I don't even know you that well, just leave me alone in my misery. Ralf probably got buzzed and is screwing random chicks as we speak. It's none of my business. Hmph."

"Clark? Misery? The two words don't seem to connect. Of course, you know me… Not as well as you'd like…" She winked. "But you do know me well enough, I'm sure of it."

"Yeah, ok." He frowned, which wasn't all too visible behind his glasses. Why the hell was he wearing those indoors? That was a question that he would never answer. It would be too painfully obvious otherwise.

"Why are you blushing?" she asked in a cheeky voice, referring to the pink tint that had taken over Clark's complexion.

Strangely enough, it had already been there before she even arrived.

"What?" Again, he was baffled. If he had been "blushing" as she said, there sure as hell wasn't a good enough reason for it. "It's the alcohol, Leona. I'm as buckled as a belt." He certainly had a habit for ruining the moment, as his features took on an even more serious appearance, his lids lowered behind his shades. "If you knew anything about me you would know that me and Ralf are drinking buddies on Fridays. Sometimes… he just slips away. But that's nothing for either of us to worry about now, is it?"

"Nope!" She shook her head and ordered herself a drink before turning to Clark with a smile. "But it does make me wonder how you'll be getting back home, what with him being gone and all. Doesn't Ralf do the driving most of the time? You're just the bitch."

"Stop it."

"What? I'm just asking." She continued to tease this man, her alcohol level being nowhere near as high as his own, but it was enough to make her more playful. "I'm genuinely curious how you plan to get back home. Ralf ditched you, I know it. Does he do this _every _week?"

"Eh…" He huffed and turned away, not bothering to even reply.

"No, I'm serious. You're drunk. I think you need a ride home, most of all, and…" She swiped his glass away and drank down the remainder of his gin. "…that's what I'm here to offer. You don't really think I'd let a comrade depend on the likes of a stranger, do you?"

Again, he didn't reply, only scowled at the fact that she had stolen his drink. If he could count how many he had that night, it would have been at least twelve and a half, not counting the miniscule amount that Leona had just swigged. But he was a big, strong man - He could handle that much alcohol like it was nothing. Hell, he could've even drunk twice as much as that and still be alert. Or at least that's what he thought.

"Fine," he then conceded, adjusting his hat before standing up, his posture slightly unsteady due to his current state of drunkenness. "I feel like going home right now. Is that a problem?"

"Not at all!" She patted his back, hooking her arm around one of his own, leading him towards the exit just as the bartender collected all their glasses. "I can tell you're really buzzing," she said with a smirk. "But don't worry - I'm as sober as they come. I'll just -" She opened the door and shoved him out, snickering in amusement when he stumbled. "Yeah, you're fun this way, Clark."


	2. Chapter 2

_Fun? _Since when did the word "fun" connect with Leona? She was being a lot cheekier than he usually remembered, though that could have been a result of all the drinking they'd been doing that night; assuming she had done anywhere near as much as Clark had himself. But she claimed to be sober, and that sat with him well enough to allow her to drive him back to his house.

He settled himself into the passenger side of the car, shifting around uncertainly to get his safety belt fastened. Leona had already started up the engine, and her piercing gaze was set on the road ahead once she had shifted into gear and was taking the car out of the parking lot. Needless to say, she no longer gave any attention to the man beside her, either too focused on the driving task at hand or just simply expecting him to pass out from exhaustion at any given moment. He probably wouldn't admit it, but he was beyond terribly drunk right now. He propped the back of his hand against his cheek as he stared out the window, just watching all the colorful lights and images pass by. It felt like only a matter of seconds before the motion came to a halt, and he could hear Leona's voice saying something but not clear enough to where he could make out the exact words.

"Hey, are you dead?" came Leona's voice again.

She had already parked the car and was well on her way out, stopping on the other side so she could assist the male in exiting the vehicle. Despite her usual stoic disposition, she couldn't help but find amusement in this situation. It may have been a secret to all but herself, but she deeply admired this Clark guy, perhaps even on levels that were shameful to confess under such circumstances. That is, she wasn't drunk. She was only a little buzzed from having a few beers; that half glass of gin wasn't anywhere near enough to get her giddy from drunkenness. It was Clark who was "buckled as a belt" as he had said, and she saw him heading toward the front door of his house without uttering a single reply to her question. Of course, the first thing that happened on his way was him tripping over the first step.

"Oh, fuck!" He grunted and picked himself up only to have Leona's arm hooked around his own again. He was behaving completely inane, and this was something even he couldn't deny.

"You're gonna have to go lie down," she said, watching carefully as he rummaged through his pockets for a key. "I'll make sure you don't split your head open on the way."

"No, don't bother," he replied finally. "I'll be fine. It ain't like I hadn't caused you enough trouble already." He then paused to think for a moment. "Can I ask you something?"

"Huh?"

"Well, you're being really upbeat and perky tonight. Or at least more so than I would normally expect from you, either that or you're right, I don't know you well enough. I just, uhh…" He scratched his head, searching for the right words. "I just wanted to know - is there anything wrong? You honestly don't think I could be so drunk I don't notice the slightest change in your demeanor. You're just off… somehow."

"Off?" She furrowed her brows, watching as he opened the door and stumbled inside.

The light was on in a matter of seconds, alighting the painfully messy front room of Clark's house. It was rare that anyone visited him so he didn't find it important to keep things tidy.

"Yeah, off," he said, nodding as he plopped himself down on the couch, stretching his sore legs out before leaning back with a tired sigh. "Y'know, like you've had too much to drink? Somethin' along those lines, I'unnoh." He brought a hand up to remove his cap, tossing it across the room, as his disheveled pale locks were brought into view. Closing his eyes, he sighed again. Most people never even knew what his eyes looked like.

"You know, you're right," she replied, forcing a smile this time as she stared at the floor.

She folded her hands in her lap, slightly bewildered that he would question her of such things anyway. How did he know her that well to know she was behaving "off"? She realized the fact that she had a strong admiration for this man, but it was not something she expected others to pick up on, let alone of all people, Clark. And just what was this admiration based on? Was it his strength? His cold, professional attitude? He wasn't acting like any of those things right now. In fact, if anything, she could say that he was the one who was "off". But that was a matter of opinion.

"Of course, I'm right." He nodded to himself sagely as he reached into his pocket again, this time drawing out what appeared to be a pack of cigarettes.

"Since when do you smoke?"

"Only on drunk Fridays," he replied, lighting up one of the cancer sticks, breathing out a puff of smoke as he stared at the wall. "In some weird way, it actually prevents me from getting hung-over."

"Oh."

She thought for a few seconds, then raised a single hand toward the man, intent on snatching off those damn glasses he insisted on wearing at all times. She was genuinely curious what his eyes looked like. She had never seen them before, but could only imagine their appearance. Were they brown? Blue? Gray? Or even green? She didn't know, but something compelled her to find out right this moment.

"What're you doing?" He wasn't fast enough to elude her attempts, within moments being deprived of his seemingly permanent eye wear; his eyes were gray.

"I wanted to see…" Her own optics widened upon taking in the sight of a deep incision mark between Clark's surprisingly attractive gray eyes. "How did this happen?" She dared to touch the scar, noticing him shudder slightly as her fingertips grazed over the raised skin. "Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Hmm…" She continued to caress the mark for a little longer before quickly removing her hand, realizing she was being too touchy-feely for comfort. Though it didn't seem like her comrade minded much. "Did you get this in one of your fights? I don't see why you insist on hiding it. It's like a scar of triumph."

"Eh, I didn't get it in a fight," he said in a confessing tone, swiftly grasping the glasses from Leona's hand and putting them back on. "Besides, I look better with these anyway."

"If you say so…" She stared at him in disbelief, clearly finding secret pleasure out of having seen Clark's eyes; not many could say they'd done that and lived to tell. But it wasn't his eyes that had drawn her attention the most - it was that scar. He said he hadn't gotten it in a fight, but suddenly that made her wonder if there were any other such scars present on his well-toned physique. "You're getting awfully warm… Maybe you should…" She then set a delicate hand upon his chest, slithering her fingers downward upon the thin fabric of his t-shirt before reaching the hem of his shirt to lift it up. It wasn't her intention to be naughty - She just wanted to see his body; check for any other scars that might catch her interest. Either that or she actually was a lot drunker than she thought, and she was pushing her luck with this guy.

Astonishingly enough, Clark didn't react at all to these actions. It was as though he had found this the perfect moment to pass out and she could ravage him in his sleep if she had so pleased. It wasn't like she could tell whether or not his eyes were even open now.

"Uh, Clark?" She stared at him closely, tempted to swipe away his glasses again.

He grumbled something incoherent, setting his cigarette down into an ashtray. "I know what you're doing," he said, his shaded eyes focusing on her own despite the lack of actual contact.

"What am I doing?" Without a second's hesitation, she shifted over and straddled his lap, still keeping her hand firmly planted on his abdomen, her fingers lingering upon the warmth of that bare skin.

Once her bottom had settled upon his groin she could immediately tell he was a lot _happier _than he was letting on. But it wasn't really like she was trying to seduce the male - something like instinct was compelling her to act. "Either you're still 'buckled as a belt' or you're a brick wall like they say," she went on, once again testing her luck with trying to remove his glasses.

He evaded her attempt and shook his head. "You're playing a game with me," he replied. "Seeing if I'm too drunk to pass up a chance to…" His own hands wandered down to grasp the female's rear. He then raised his brows high enough for them to be visible over his shades. "But if this is how you want to play, then I'm your man. It's been weeks since the last time I've gotten laid."

"Huh?" She considered herself fortunate enough to not be so drunk that she let her consciousness slip away to the point that she would actually blush to his words. It would be so unbecoming of her, and as all who knew her were aware, Leona wasn't the type of woman to act like a fan-girl, even it was only her long-time crush she was straddling at the moment. "I wasn't implying that I want to do …" She face palmed with her free hand, soon also removing her opposite hand from the man's body. "You're sick."

She then proceeded to slide off of his lap, apparently, ruining the moment for both of them as it would seem. It was true, she had wanted to mess around with him a little. What woman wouldn't want such an amazingly handsome man in her grip? But the way he had phrased _"It's been weeks since the last time I've gotten laid" _put her off from wanting to continue with his game. She had no intention of being just another "lay" for Clark to brag about to Ralf later on.

"Exactly." He nodded and pulled his shirt back down. Women were so tedious sometimes, it made him want to face palm too.


End file.
